About Rabid Monkeys.

Yesterday I went to the doctors about vaccinations for Bali. I left with this image

RABID MONKEYS!

 

And today I go back, bacause apparently it’s uncool to get polio (among other things) and the doctor gave me a helpful strategy to avoid rabid dogs and other animals.

1. detect rabid dog – the dog will be all manner of unspeakableness and will probably try to attack you with it’s visious infected jaws of death.

2. Run like all hell.

3. Fail at outrunning.

4. If you are still alive, wash in soapy water, and call yourself an ambulance.

OH HAPPY DAY! NOTHING CAN HURT ME NOW WOOOOOO!

Yeah, not very optimistic about rabies.

But otherwise, this is going to be awesome fun! (P.S. I now have both sore arms and hardcore immunities.) AND I’m seeing a play tomorrow night which will be amazing procrastination fun. Oh, and BTW, 3 assignments to submit before I leave for holidays? Challenge Accepted.

Smiley face.

Golly That’s Amazing!

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A visual account of everyday life at uni.

I thought I’d better give a decent and DETAILED update to my adventures at uni, and this will come in time. But for now I thought that a succinct run down of my everyday activities might help to relieve stress some may have about my new situation. I’ve decided on a little picture gallery, illustrating the major goings on of my days.

Here is my room, and a decent room it is.

Here is me, being generally satisfied with life in my little abode, unaware of the big scary world. I am inviting you to view the most interesting part of my room, the SHELVES! But please, contain your outward excitement, things can only get more enticing.

"Ooh, what in the world could this be?"

In this slide our heroine discovers something sinister on her impeccably tidy desk. This evil being is commonly referred to as STUDY. STUDY is something that collegians are expected to do every now and then, and regular battles with the minions help to keep the arch villains away.  This is no ordinary battle, but a battle of skill and cunning, as depicted here:

'The thinking woman', a common and useful defence.

Using her wits, the protagonist (me) duels ferociously with up to four subjects at a time! Have no fear, though ’tis a bloody battle, the glory to be found at the end is surely worth it. Aye, mead and wenches for all! (If you lika da wenches – me no really lika da wenches – me lika da….. da……. menches.)

ULTIMATE GLORY!

OUR HEROIC RETELLING IS AT AN END!

 

 

 

FIN.

 

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Two Words:

Stuff. That.

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Party hats and wannabes

It’s still about unicorns, promise.

Just had a thought, and realised that I’m not the first to discover this. There are actually people who have horns just like unicorns.

Hopefully not a reader's grand momma.

Apart for some small differences, this is strong evidence that there are some humans who carry the unicorn gene, which is known as rainbowhornhead, or RHH for short.

Mostly when people have horns though, they like to hide them in an attempt to ward off suspicion which may lead to scientific testing. Common ways of hiding horns are party hats, pony/fro-nytails and acoubras (?).

A neat hat trick

This process leads people to believe they are looking at a horse with a party hat, and not a magical, rainbow-and-baby-eating unicorn. It works in a similar way for people, just without the hoofs.

Ever noticed that some cowboys never seem to take off their acoubras? Coincidence? I think not. More likely they don’t want you to know that underneath that cowboy head attachment, there is not only horrendous hat hair, but a horn as well.

These new developments lead me to believe that I have both an amazingly penetrating genius, and far too much spare time.

I’ll leave these with you to ponder for now,

Golly That’s Amazing!

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A promise.

My promise will be kept.

What is a unicorn?

Artistic evidence of early unicorn habits.

The unicorn is a ‘mythological’ creature. This means that it’s existence has been successfully hidden from public view, as a safety mechanism. There is however, some early evidence of unicorns being quite friendly with humans, which gave birth to their legend. I have a theory that they are in fact invisible when they do not wish to be seen.

Issues in the Unicorn Kingdom:

Lumberjacks are Unicorn killers!

Due to logging, unicorn habitats have shrunk significantly, and this has caused some discomfort among the ranks of various unicorn settlements. For example, King Neigghbrrr of the Daintree Unicorn Kingdom (DUK FTW), has suggested to his followers that plans be made to ensure that their residences be kept in prime condition for future generations. At least, we think that’s what he said, but we don’t speak very fluent Unicorn. In fact, for all we know they were talking about how decent rainbows are so hard to find under thick canopies.

Diet:

Ha, Ha, Just kidding.

As you know, Unicorns absorb rainbows as a source of energy. Horse food is not enough to support their magic powers. There are some old legends suggesting that unicorns do in fact eat children, or the souls of children. There is no physical evidence to support this claim. However some of the more primitive unicorn tribes (such as those residing in the plains of Algeria) are known to be quite hostile against humans. No doubt because of logging. It’s bad kids! You kill a log, you kill a unicorn’s house!

Related species:

Proof of relationship is not necessary as it is so obvious.

The unicorn’s nearest relative is the narwhal. These creatures of the ocean also display the single antler/horn of the unicorn. Narwhals, as you know, are the jedi of the sea.

I hope this essay has  been conclusive enough to settle any restless doubts that you have about Unicorns, Narwhals, and logging. Please feel free to comment with any questions which I will answer in my next post.

 

Golly That’s Amazing!

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Holiday Cheer

Yes, I know I promised to write about unicorns. I will get on to that eventually. But first I thought I’d take you on a merry journey of christmas past, present and future, just in case I turn into even more of a humbug in the future. I don’t really *love* christmas like everyone else seems to. It’s always filled with expectations that are almost never fulfilled. Christmas Past being a fairly broad term and not referring to any single event, I will list the basic traditions of our christmas celebrations.

Christmas morning as a child still held that incredibly exciting atmosphere. My sisters, A, E and B and I (I being me, not some random whose name starts with an I. Mine certainly does not.) would get up really early to find plastic santa bags at the end of our beds, filled with lollies and one of our gifts. It was no secret that our parents dumped them on our beds in the night, usually we were (or at least I was) awake enough to notice my door opening and the flashlight illuminating the room. The goodie bag would drop onto your feet with a satisfying  weight, and depending on how early it was, you’d either wait till morning or investigate it then and there. This part of the day is called ‘excited expectation’.

When everyone was up and dressed, we headed out to church and looked on enviously to all those kids who’d already opened their presents. A few hymns and and a story of Jesus later we’d be home again, waiting for Dad, usually, sitting around the laden tree gazing hopefully at those mysterious decorated parcels. At last we’d all be assembled and one of the family was nominated to be Santa. When we were younger this was almost always my Dad, but I think we all had our turn. ‘Santa’ would pass out the gifts reading out the ‘to’ and ‘from’ labels. Each new discovery was followed by cheery thank-yous and the occasional cuddle. When everything was opened we talked a bit, played with the wrapping rubbish, and Mum would disappear at some point to work on christmas lunch. This part of the day is called ‘everything is wonderful’.

While us chilluns played with our new toys and gadgets, Ma would be slaving away to produce the most awesome of stuffed chickens with roasted veggies and a hardcore gravy. And it was good. It smelt good, it looked good, and it sure as hell tasted good too. Bonbons presented us with terrible jokes, plastic crap and colourful party hats which were mandatory throughout lunch. This part of the day is called ‘bloated satisfaction’.

That marked the end of any formal celebration, and we had the afternoon to play with our new things and relax our stomachs. Even as a child, I was sad at the end of christmas dinner, because I knew everyone was then going to be too tired to play with me properly. This part of the story is called ‘christmas ends at 2:30pm’.

As far as christmases go, I guess it was fairly good. But as the years went on, more of my sisters moved away, we got older and christmas failed to deliver on that wondrous joy that it used to. Like this christmas. I’d told myself over and over that I was not going to get my hopes up. Christmas this year was just my parents and me. No more santa bags, and tripping over in the darkness. We still went to church in the morning, and opened our presents together, but being just the three of us it was a good deal shorter than traditional. Then we left the tree to go about our business while mum cooked up a feast, and when it was ready we sat and ate, read our jokes and wore our party hats. Except Dad, whose age means that he can no longer suffer to be undignified for that amount of time. Cheery conversation ensues, until it’s run dry and all we have yet to discuss is what to do for the rest of the day. This part of the day is called ‘expectation of disappointment’, and like every year for a while now, we go off to our separate rooms, and facebook is my one companion.

All was not lost though, Pa did eventually take pity on me and consent to watch a movie that night after all. Mum was super tired from the exertions of the day, and hit the sack around 7. We had our enjoyments, and it wasn’t all that bad. All it lacks is a bit of holiday cheer. I fear that the joy has gone out of christmas a little since we all grew up.

Now we take a trip to christmas future: This is what I hope. One day, I am going to have a family of my own. We’ll make our own traditions, make an effort. The kids will be full of that ‘excited expectation’ and it will rub off on everyone there, maybe even my own parents. I don’t want every christmas to be just another christmas, change is good. And I would hope that it doesn’t end up dying out by 2:30.

I said that I don’t really *love* christmas like everyone else seems to, but really, it isn’t all that bad. We have at least a loving, if potentially terminally boring family.

And to end: Unicorns, Humbug, and to all a good night!

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In advance

In the hope that I don’t ruin your year by heightening your expectations for this blog, allow me to explain. I fully intend to be one of those annoying space-fillers who waste good internet by not only blogging rubbish, but not posting at all. I apologise in advance. I would have most likely put out four posts in a twelvemonth – all of them containing apologies of not posting more often – along with useless and boring dribble about what I’ve been up to. But I know you won’t care about any of that. More likely you’re picturing stabbing me repeatedly in the face with a used toilet brush for being so gosh darned annoying.

That would indeed make my blog the worst waste of space on the internet – so to save you the trouble of reading trash I will apologise in advance, and hope I don’t live to give validation to the complete tragedy that I have described.

Regards, K.

Golly That’s Amazing!

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